


home is the battlefield

by tosca1390



Category: Psy-Changeling - Nalini Singh
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, F/M, Gen, Pre-Relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-22
Updated: 2013-12-22
Packaged: 2018-01-05 14:40:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1095165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tosca1390/pseuds/tosca1390
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Long hair falling in waves over her shoulders and back, Sienna comes to a stop inches from Hawke and her uncle, glancing up at Hawke with a frank, open gaze. “My my,” she says. “A new friend?”</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Hawke sticks out his hand for her to shake.  Pale silver scars gleam over his knuckles. “Hawke Snow. Your new bodyman.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	home is the battlefield

**Author's Note:**

  * For [empressearwig](https://archiveofourown.org/users/empressearwig/gifts).



*

 

“She’s different than she was before,” is all Walker Lauren will say of Hawke’s newest (and now only) client. 

“Five years on a deserted island will do that to a person,” Hawke says, his voice echoing in the foyer of the Lauren house (really, the Lauren mansion. And Hawke isn’t poor, but this? This is money.). High ceilings of elegantly sculpted wood, exposed beams and sunlight pouring into the room through a wide skylight – it’s a security detail’s nightmare. 

“A definitive statement,” Walker says, voice cool. But there is emotion in his pale green gaze, fear – and something else entirely. 

Hawke bares his teeth in a not-so-friendly smile, but doesn’t reply. He is a former Navy SEAL, Black Ops-trained and used to isolation. He can make definitive statements. 

“Someone with your pedigree could easily have gone into large-market private security work, Mr. Snow. I wonder why you did not.”

“I’m better one-on-one,” Hawke replies, smirking a little. 

“Precisely why we hired you,” Walker says evenly. “I have no interest in losing my niece again. Losing my sister is quite enough.”

_Rich people and their boats_ , Hawke thinks with a growl. His eyes catch movement at the top of the winding staircase, a flash of hair as dark as rubies at midnight. His stomach clenches. 

“Sienna, please,” Walker calls pleasantly. The warmth and relief in his tone is evident, even two weeks after his niece’s shocking return to civilization. 

The woman in question – a woman known five years ago as something of a troublemaker, incredibly smart and unwilling to apply herself to anything serious (Hawke has done his research) – walks down the stairs with a lethal, fighter’s grace. Hawke can spot it in the carriage of her shoulders, the sharp tilt of her dark eyes, the flex of her fingers against her palms. There are hints of scars on her bared forearms; he can only imagine what the rest of her looks like under those tight jeans and t-shirt – 

Shit. _Shit_. 

Long hair falling in waves over her shoulders and back, she comes to a stop inches from Hawke and her uncle, glancing up at Hawke with a frank, open gaze. “My my,” she says. “A new friend?”

Hawke sticks out his hand for her to shake. Pale silver scars gleam over his knuckles. “Hawke Snow. Your new bodyman.”

She takes his hand, her gaze flickering to her uncle. “I don’t see that this is necessary,” she says even as she shakes his hand. A firm, solid grip. Calluses on her palms and fingertips, the inside of her index finger and thumb. She’s a fighter.

“There has already been one kidnapping attempt since your return home. It is absolutely necessary,” Walker says in a tone that brooks no argument. 

“I’m not a child,” she says, voice deceptively light. 

“No one thinks you are. But your safety is my number one priority,” Walker counters. 

“And now mine,” Hawke adds, giving her a flat stare. “So I’d deal with it.”

Sienna slips her hand from his and tilts her head. “I’d stay out of my way, Mr. Snow.”

“Hawke’s fine. And I’d recommend you stay out of mine.”

“Wonderful,” Walker says after a tense moment, his even gaze flickering between them. “Carry on. I have to get to the office.”

The sun gleams against Sienna’s hair as she turns towards the staircase in her uncle’s absence. Hawke is just a step behind her. 

“I’m in the house, Hawke. No need to stalk me here,” she says flatly, glancing over her shoulder. There’s a scar under her chin he would know the story of one day. 

“I don’t think you really get how this works, Miss Lauren,” is all he says in reply. 

Her lips twitch into a wry little smile, dark eyes flashing. “Oh, I think I’ve figured it out.”

She disappears down the second floor hallway, into her bedroom. Down the opposite hall, Hawke listens for the sounds of the other children; Toby, 18, and Marlee, 15 – Walker’s children with his wife Lara. His every sense is on alert; he knows trouble when he sees it. 

Sienna Lauren is full of trouble. 

 

*

 

The first time she gives him the slip is the second time he sees the vigilante known as the X on television, busting in on a notorious mob boss responsible in part for the degradation of San Francisco’s poorest area. On their way to a party given by the Hunters, they had stopped for a sandwich, and she had slipped out the opposite side of the car door and disappeared before Hawke could even take a breath. It had been well-executed, clever; Hawke didn’t bother chasing. He knows how to get what he needs. 

Hawke waits in Sienna’s bedroom, the emptiness of her bed telling. He’s not a dumb man, despite the many girlfriends who have tried to love him and then left. He can put together a puzzle. 

Even one as jagged as Sienna Lauren. 

She crawls into her bedroom window at four in the morning and stops shirt when she sees him sitting at her desk. He grins in the darkness. 

“This is an invasion of privacy,” she says, shutting the window and brushing herself off. 

“Pretty sure with you and me there’s no such thing,” he drawls. 

Shrugging, she peels off her leather jacket and tosses it to the floor. In the dim light from the half-moon, his sharp gaze picks out the bruises and scrapes along her bare arms. In the light of day he knows he would see burns and scars marring the dark lovely skin. 

“Gonna tell me where you went?” he asks, rising from her desk. 

“Clubbing,” she says with a sharp fake smile, fingers resting at the hem of her t-shirt. 

“You might fool your family, sweetheart, but you’re not fooling me for shit.”

“You’re quite crass,” she counters. 

“Black Ops training will do that to you,” he retorts. “And you’re no picnic either.”

She is quiet for a moment, gaze resting on him appraisingly. “Black Ops?”

Hawke rubs a palm over the back of his neck, rolling his eyes. “You ditch me again, and you’ll regret it,” he says, picking up her jacket from the floor and handing it to her. “Don’t test me.”

He walks out without another word. Point made. 

(And bug planted, too. But really, point made.)

 

*

 

Sienna slips away again at a fundraising gala, hosted by the Laurens, the Duncans, and the LeBons; how anyone could miss her leaving, in her scarlet-red lace sheath gown, is a mystery. But they do. 

Hawke, however, is just that good. 

He tracks her to the old abandoned Lauren warehouse in the poor district; the family’s money was made in investments and stocks and buyouts of smaller companies, including a small-time arms manufacturer looking to escape the country quickly. They shifted the manufacturing overseas and shuttered the warehouse. It’s nondescript and empty, a real waste of space. 

As he moves through the dusty and rundown space, he can hear sounds from below. It takes him no time to jimmy his way through the substandard lock and move as softly and quietly as snow down the metal stairs.

What greets his gaze is, while not wholly unexpected, still impressive. 

“That island wasn’t much of a tropical vacation, was it?” he asks as he lands on the concrete. 

Sienna, clad in black leather with ruby-red accents, stares at him from across a computer bay. Chains hang from the ceiling over a sparring mat. The space has all the makings of a secret lair, complete with strange strength-training equipment and an array of weapons. One, however, catches his eyes and completes the picture forming in his head for the last month.

“Crossbow as your weapon of choice?” he asks, strolling over with deadly grace. 

“It’s evocative.”

“You didn’t think adding flames was a bit much?” 

“I like a show,” she says evenly. 

“You do realize how insane this looks , right?” Hawke asks, stopping just a breath from her. 

Sienna doesn’t smile, doesn’t shift. She stays stock still, spine perfectly straight, poised for an attack. There are secrets in her dark eyes that he wants to know, and that he’s not sure he’ll ever get a chance for. 

Especially if this doesn’t end well.

“Leaping around the city like a vigilante, taking down rich mobsters and corporate junkies, isn’t much of a hobby for a nice girl like you,” he adds. 

“I have to do it,” she says abruptly, voice deadly serious. “I have to.”

He moves to lean against the metal table, arms crossed over his chest. “Why?”

Wetting her lips, she shrugs off her leather jacket. The evening gown is hanging up neat and pretty across the room. It’s a dichotomy he can’t shake. 

“My mother told me to,” she says after a long moment, voice strangled. 

“Told you to what?”

“Save the city.”

 

*

 

Sienna leans next to him and tells him everything – well, not everything. But most of it. He knows a lie when he hears one, can see it in her dark eyes; but there are secrets no one will ever know of his life, his father’s murder, and he can understand the instinct to hide. 

“The rich in this city have conspired with the lowest of the low to destroy the undesirable parts,” she says, holding up a small notebook. “And my mother – my family is a part of it. When we were shipwrecked, she told me everything. She told me to survive so I could right the wrongs done in her name.”

“How does this lead to you running around pretending to be Batgirl?” Hawke asks. 

Sienna’s gaze darkens. “The island trained me in many things.”

“So you weren’t alone.”

She blinks and looks away. “No,” she says, voice utterly empty.

He takes her hand in his for a moment, some odd instinct to comfort her betraying his common sense. “I pegged you for a fighter immediately.”

“Kind knows kind,” she says roughly, glancing at him again. “I – I was going to tell you.”

“Why?”

She pushes away from the table to face him straight on. “Because you’re the kind of man whose help is essential to my goal.”

“I don’t play second fiddle to anyone, sweetheart,” he says. 

“I’m not – “ she huffs, flipping to a page in her notebook. “I’m talking about a partnership. I need a partner. And you’re the kind of man this city needs.”

He raises a brow. “What makes you say that?”

“Because you have as much stake in taking down this list as I do. Because your family was murdered by Ming LeBon. Because you’ve watched those meant to be helped by those more fortunate be swept aside and forgotten,” she says, voice soft. 

“My family was murdered in a robbery gone wrong,” he says tightly, the words ringing hollowly in the cavernous space. 

Sienna shakes her head. “It was supposed to look that way. But your father – your father was running for alderman, to try and reform the right way. He had too much support and too much funding. LeBon ordered the hit.”

“How do you know that?” he growls. 

Wetting her lips, she looks down at the floor for a moment. “My mother told me.”

“She – Jesus fucking Christ – “ Hawke pushes past her and walks towards the middle of the room, shaking his head. 

“The true villains in this city will never get justice through normal channels, Hawke. You know it, and I do too. A man of your training, your talents, your abilities – you shouldn’t be playing private bodyman to a little rich girl,” she says, voice hard-edged and sharp. “I need your help.”

Hawke rubs a hand across his eyes and turns to face her. Sienna is slim and angled in the harsh fluorescent lights, but her eyes and the set of her jaw are determined, lethal. She is utterly beautiful and utterly dangerous. 

“Jesus Christ,” he mutters, scratching at the scruff of his jaw. “Talk about fucked up.”

“Don’t I know it,” she says quietly. “There are people trying to work the inside – Lucas Hunter, for one. But they’ll never get it done on their own. And the legal channels are so corrupt – the city needs us. And I need you.”

“Partners,” he says quietly. 

“Partners,” she echoes, earnest and solemn-eyed. 

Striding across the room, he reaches out a hand to her. “Okay.”

Sienna takes it, shaking firmly. Her smile is crooked but warms him like a shot to the heart. He holds on when she would let go. “But I’m the one person you don’t lie to, Sienna. We’re partners in this the whole way. You tell me everything.”

Her smile falters. “The island – “

“I’m not talking about the island. I’m talking about here and now. If something comes back to haunt you, we’ll deal with it then. I have ghosts, too,” he says darkly. “But no more giving me the slip. No more lies. You never need to lie to me.”

She looks at him steadily, her eyes dark and firm. Ruby-red hair slips across her shoulders. “Okay.”

“Okay,” he says, releasing her hand. It fits well in his. “So. Now what?”

 

*

 

One late night, over burgers at his local diner, he feeds her fries and asks her the unaskable. 

He knows hints of the island, of the torture she endured, of the training. Just as she knows his history in Black Ops, of the losses of his past, of his own crosses to bear, after two months of partnership, there is little sacred between them. He helps her with restraint; she makes him smile even with her recklessness. But there is one question she cannot seem to bear vocalizing; her love for her uncles, both Walker and the younger one, Judd, and her cousins is too much to push through. 

So, he does it for her. 

“Do your uncles know?”

Sienna, her hair pulled back in the braid she loves so much (and that he loves to tug on, to make her smile – oh shit, it’s getting deep now), stares at him mutely. 

“I’m sure – Sienna, do they?” he asks when she says nothing for a moment. 

He watches her swallow, watches her body curl into itself. The temptation to pull her into his arms and hold on tight is a vise on his heart, a strange warmth in his chest. He cares for this woman, and it terrifies him. 

“I think – I think Walker must,” she says after another tense moment of silence, broken only by the faint conversations of other diners, of the sounds of the kitchen nearby. “And I can’t bear it.”

“We can find out,” he says after a beat, reaching over to cover her hand on the table with his. She is skittish with touch, but his – his is different. Just as hers is different to him. 

“Not yet,” she says quietly. “I – not yet.”

Hawke holds his peace for now, and goes back to his burger. But, when Sienna is out for the evening, he plants a bug or two in Walker Lauren’s main office and cell phone. Because that’s what partners are for; to take the steps the other cannot. 

For now, though, he protects Sienna during the day, fights at her side at night, and thinks on her often in the time between. It’s dangerous, he knows, to fall for a woman like her; but when has he ever been rational? He’s a partner to a vigilante for god’s sake. 

Somehow, despite the risks, it’s a life he takes pride in. He takes pride in Sienna, too. 

There’s no telling how this will all end. 

 

*


End file.
